Sagiro’s Story Hour, Part 174
Packed and ready to go, Kibi teleports the Company to Hae Kalkas, which conveniently enough is the major city both closest to Longtooth Keep and nearest to Kibi’s home town of Eggemoggin. Although their instinct is to immediately begin wind walking, the Company decides to (wonder of wonders!) walk for the two days it will take to reach the hill-fort of the Norlin Hills.
“We need to stretch our legs, breathe some fresh air,” says Ernie. “And get some exercise that doesn’t involve beating up bad guys.”
It’s a warm autumnal day beneath a cloud-bespeckled sky, and the only thing that mars their enjoyment is the fact that Aravis and Morningstar have again acquired patches of the mystery rash. It’s still just a minor nuisance, and clerical magic cures it, but it sure would be nice to know what’s causing it. The party resolves to visit the Sages Consortium in Hae Kalkas on their return trip from the keep.
In the late afternoon Kibi feels the eyes upon him again, glinting hard and cold in his mind. They seem particularly expectant, but Kibi can do nothing. He frowns in frustration, wondering what they want. They don’t leave this time, and gaze steadily through the rest of the evening.
They are still watching him the next morning when he wakes.
“What do you want?” he cries out. “Are you Cranchus? Are you the Eyes of Moirel? Both, somehow? What?”
Nothing.
All day they watch, as the party winds its way up into the Norlin Hills. The roads are in poor repair, strewn with tumbled rock and a few fallen leaves.
“I’ll bet some monsters have moved in,” says Dranko.
“Or maybe a gang of ruffians and outlaws,” says Flicker.
“More likely a bear, or some wolves” says Kay.
In the late afternoon they round a sharp peak on a high road and see the four corner towers of Longtooth Keep rising above the rock. The drawbridge is down. They can't remember if they left it that way or not, but they approach cautiously, ready for anything. The small gatehouse still seems deserted and there is no sound at all save from birds and the wind. They emerge into the large courtyard with weapons drawn, but no one greets them, friendly or otherwise.
Kay moves farther in, examining the ground for tracks. The grounds are spotty with weeds and crabgrass, rocks and gravel.
“Hard to say,” she concludes after a few minutes. “The soil is hard and doesn’t leave good marks. The bones from our last battle are still here; you’d think if anyone had taken over the Keep in the past few years, they’d have cleaned the place up.”
“What a disappointment,” says Dranko, throwing his hands up in disgust. “How could this place have gone unoccupied all this time. There aren’t even any monsters to fight!”
“Think again, mister!” calls a voice from somewhere above. “It’s occupied, by me! And seeing as how this place is mine, and you’re a-trespassin’ on it, I suggest you leave it this instant!”
Weapons fly instantly into hands, and all eyes focus on the upper story of the keep’s central building. There’s someone up there all right, just inside a window, and he’s poking a crossbow out, aimed in their general direction.
“Who the hell are you?” Dranko calls up.
“I’ll be asking the questions,” retorts the voice. “I’m the one with the crossbow. Any of you try anything funny and you’ll get a bolt in your belly.”
There’s some snickering from the Company. The one with the crossbow? Who are the ones with the crossbow, the longbows, the shortbows, the warhammers, longswords, daggers, morningstars, maces, whips and sonic fireballs?
After a moment where no one speaks, Aravis says, “well?”
“Well what?” replies the man with the crossbow.
“You said you’d be asking the questions. What questions?”
“I don’t got no questions. You just turn around and leave before there’s trouble.”
“Look pal,” says Dranko, “I’m sorry to be the one to break it to you, but this is our Keep. We have the title. You’re on our land, so why don’t you come down here where we can talk about it, okay?”
“You’re lyin’,” says the man. “This keep’s been abandoned for months. There ain’t nobody what owns it. “Cept me, that is.”
“This is stupid,” says Morningstar. She casts detect thoughts.
“Hey now, what’s she doin’? What’s with all the hand-waving and chanting?”
No one answers. With little effort Morningstar starts to read his thoughts. And what he’s thinking is, “man, I sure hope I can bluff ‘em. Yeah, I bet I can. Bluff ‘em, that’s it.”
“We’re not going away,” says Morningstar. “And unless you want us to come up there after you, I suggest you come down and talk. I know you have a crossbow. We’ve got weapons too, but we’d rather not fight at all.”
The man squints out of the window. He’s thinking, “damn.”
The crossbow is withdrawn from the window and the Company hears the sound of someone coming down the stairs.
“He’s just a squatter,” says Morningstar. “He’s thinking he doesn’t have much of a chance, but he’s still going to try to convince us to leave.”
From the keep’s central building emerges a scraggly man in his forties, broad-shouldered and sunburned. He’s still got his crossbow out in front of him, loaded and cocked.
“He won’t use it,” mutters Morningstar as he approaches.
The man slows as he gets a better look at the Company, bristling with weapons and outfitted in shiny expensive armor. The crossbow dips a bit.
“What’s your name, mister?” asks Ernie cheerily.
“It’s no business of yours,” blusters the man.
Grey Wolf clears his throat and lets his hand drop to Bostock’s hilt.
“Erm… it’s Fergus. M’name’s Fergus. What’s yours?”
“Ernest Roundhill. A pleasure to meet you, Fergus.”
“Can’t say the same,” growls Fergus. “Now why don’t you folks just go on home, and leave me in peace. I don’t want no trouble.”
“We are home,” says Aravis. “We own this keep. The King himself granted us the deed.”
“Yeah? Let’s see it.”
Aravis fishes out the title to Longtooth Keep. Fergus grabs it and makes a show of looking it over. He’s holding it upside-down.
“He can’t read,” mumbles Morningstar.
Fergus hands back the deed.
“A forgery, I’ll warrant,” he declares.
“How would you know?” asks Morningstar. “You can’t read it. Can you?”
“Are you suggesting that I… that I…”
Morningstar is glaring steadily at him.
“Well, fine, maybe I’m not brushed up on my letters, but please. You expect me to believe that the King, Crunard himself, gave you this run-down old place with all these weeds and rocks and bones? I could-a come up with a better story myself!”
“Gotta give him credit for trying,” says Grey Wolf.
“Look, buddy,” says Dranko, stepping forward and ignoring the crossbow. “It’s not a forgery. I would know. We just fought a big war over in Verdshane, and we won, and the King gave us this keep as a reward. We earned it, and it’s ours, and if you have eyes in your head you can see that there’s not much you can do to keep us out. So why don’t we see if we can come to sort of arrangement where we don’t just throw you over the walls, and you can keep some of the dignity you’ve still got left.”
Fergus bows his head, defeated. The Company agrees that he can stay on as a sort-of caretaker, but warns him that he’d have to pull his own weight plus a little more. They find that he keeps a small garden behind the main building, enough to sustain him. He’s got the well working, and he sleeps upon a straw and cloth mat in a squalid little room on the second floor. He’s been keeping himself alive, but doing the bare minimum work necessary.
“You can start by cleaning up the grounds,” says Ernie.
Grumbling, Fergus does what he’s told. The rest make plans for fixing the place up proper. Kibi knows many dwarven stonewrights in Hae Kalkas and Eggemoggin who they can pay for restoration work, and others who can serve as guards. He’ll teleport to his home village that night to start recruiting.
Soon
Kibi suddenly looks alarmed and alert. He and Scree both think to the other: did you hear that?
“What is it, Kibi?” asks Flicker.
“I think those eyes that are watching me, I think they just said something!”
“What did the say?” Everyone is attentive.
“They said, ‘soon.’”
“Soon what?” asks Grey Wolf.
“They didn’t say.”
“Oh, that’s helpful,” says Kay.
“Ominous,” says Grey Wolf. “The word you’re looking for is “ominous.”
* *
The next day Morningstar awakes to find herself scratching at a patch of rash on her arm. Curious, she drops into Ava Dormo; to her dismay the rash is on her there as well. She almost cures herself as Ernie prepares breakfast, but decides to leave it be.
An hour later she and Dranko are standing in front of the Hae Kalkas Sages’ Consortium, having wind walked there after eating. They are soon seated with a plump middle-aged woman named Pearl, an expert on maladies from unusual sources. She examines the patch on Morningstar’s arm. She daubs droplets of various salves and ointments onto the rash and watches for reactions. She asks them all sorts of questions about where they were and what they were doing in the time before the first instance occurred.
Her final analysis: “I don’t know. My best guess would be that the dragon was related; there are records involving many variants of dragon-sickness. The part I am most at a loss to explain is its recurrence. When clerical magic is used to cure diseases, they don’t come back. Except in your case. Maybe something you still come into contact with on a daily basis is re-infecting you?”
By late afternoon the Company has gathered again at Longtooth Keep. Kibi has returned from Eggemoggin with a couple of dwarves, who are checking the place out and making notes on what needs to be done. Fergus is still grumbling as he pulls up weeds and makes piles of bone fragments.
“I’ve talked with plenty of dwarves who would like to help,” says Kibi. “I can have a small army of…”
Come home
“I don’t know that we need an army just yet,” says Dranko. “We can always… uh… Kibi? What’s the matter? Eyes again?”
“Yeah,” says Kibi, looking worried. “They said. ‘come home.’”
“Which home?” asks Ernie. “Do they mean Tal Hae, or Eggemoggin?”
They eyes, two blazing white crystals, shine in Kibi’s mind. They offer no more advice, no more instruction.
“I think,” says Kibi slowly, “they mean the Greenhouse.”
The party spellcasters still have enough traveling mojo to get everyone back to the Greenhouse that evening. For a few minutes everyone just sits around looking expectantly at Kibi. Nothing happens.
“Uh, sorry, guys. I guess the eyes will let me know if something is going to happen. But now they’re just back to watching me.”
A discussion starts about the rash, and what else besides the dragon might be responsible. Suspicion falls upon their recently-crafted wand of cure serious wounds. Or maybe that vapor from the basement laboratory is responsible? Nobody knows.
That night, Kibi dreams.
Abernia is your dream, and it cries out in pain, a cry that others do not hear.
The dream shifts. You are the Earth, and you have been shot with an arrow of death. At first you are calm; the arrow has shattered on the impenetrable stone of your being. But no… while fragments are thrown back to land on your face, a shaft has wormed its way in and has lodged in your heart.
You are yourself, but the pain of the world is still yours. It burns like a black flame. With a voice impossibly deep, Abernia itself contrives to speak to you. “My child,” it intones, “This splinter cannot stay within me. But its removal will bring about the end of all things. It calls.”
He wakes with a clear memory of every word, every image, and the terrible pain of the earth.. The eyes are luminous in his mind, and Kibi realizes that he sees them now as part of the real world, superimposed over his normal vision. He shares the dream with the others over breakfast.
“So you think you needed to be back here in the Greenhouse in order to have that dream?” asks Aravis.
“I don’t know,” says Kibi, deep in thought. “Yeah. I guess.”
“What does it mean?” asks Flicker. “What’s the splinter?”
“I don’t know that either,” says Kibi helplessly. “Earth, we could be a lot more helpful if you’d just ask for something clear.”
The eyes shine.
“They’re watching me all the time now,” says Kibi. “If they expect something, they should…”
Kibilhathur. We want to speak with you. The time is almost upon us. Gather around us when two hours have gone past noon, and we will speak to you. Bring your friends; they should all be present.
“Oh,” Says Kibi faintly. “That helps.”
He tells the others what he just heard.
“That’s only three hours from now,” says Aravis.
“After all this bother, they’d better have something useful to say,” mutters Dranko.
* *
As the appointed draws near, the Company contacts Ozilinsh on the Crystal Ball and updates him on current events.
“I agree,” says the Archmage. “It sounds like the Eyes of Moirel have some announcement to make. You be sure to let me know what it is; with any luck, it will have some bearing on the whereabouts or plans of Parthol Runecarver.”
The sun inches across the sky. The Company fidgets, none more than Kibi, wondering what the Eyes will say. The dwarf keeps looking out the window, watching the post-noon shadows start to lengthen.
“I think it’s time,” he says eventually. The entire Company tromps down to the basement. Continual Flames on the wall illuminate the large room, still filled with laboratory equipment from their last magic-item-making spree. A shaft of sunlight spills down the stairs as well, from a ground floor window.
Kibi walks over to the closet where the Eyes of Moirel are kept. He can see them clearly, as if he has x-ray vision that penetrates through the closet door and the heavy locked trunk. Scree rumbles along beside the dwarven wizard, as nervous as his master. Kibi opens the door and drags out the trunk. One by one he unlocks the heavy padlocks and unwraps the chains that are wound around the heavy chest.
Inside lay the two Eyes of Moirel; they glint in the ambient light. Kibi gulps, reaches down…
…to be continued…
